by S. J. Higbee
“Off course? For how long? D’you know where we are?”
I was thoroughly ashamed it was the civvy who’d run to us for help asking the intelligent questions.
We waited for long, pent moments, before Chris came back, “Sorry. This isn’t my thing. It’s Eileen’s. I could wake her up.”
I took a deep breath. “Nah. Presumably this deviation is routine. Or you’d have picked up all sorts’ve excitement. Are you fully hacked into the bridgedeck coms traffic, as well as their nav readings?”
“Yes, Boss,” Chris’s tone was long-suffering.
I winced. Of course he is. This is one of my best teams – it’s why they’re here. Don’t need my wilt-witted efforts to tell him how to do his job.
I took a deep breath and attempted to act like a leader worth the name. “Let’s get some rest. Worrying about this development isn’t going to change anything. We’ll fully evaluate the situation in the morning when we’re fresher.” Topline Shinese phrases rolled off my tongue in fine style. I now knew why politicians and adminites were so fond of the language – it’s great for babbling a lot of grandiose phrases that don’t mean all that much.
I stumbled to the couch in the corner that had been doubling as Wynn’s bed until Cerk showed up earlier in the evening. As I punched the cushions flat, I was certain I’d not sleep a wink. For starters, I still had my veil on and although I had become very used to wearing the thing during the day, I hadn’t attempted sleeping in it up to that point. In the event, though, as soon as my head hit the cushions I was out’ve it.
I’d like to report that I had a thoroughly refreshing sleep at least four hours long. I didn’t. Only a couple of moments later, it seemed, Wynn was shaking me awake. Which took a great deal longer than it should.
I groaned, trying to rub my sleep-silted eyes awake, and scrubbing at the veil, instead.
“Sister… Sister Marion… our guards have some important news. You need to wake up. Cerk, here, is very worried.” Wynn’s nudging was gentle, yet insistent, while he continued nattering important reminders that I wasn’t Elizabeth Norman, ex-Chief of the P’s on my way to intercept my psychotic brother before he murdered my family in horrible and inventive ways – but Sister Marion, Gaiast priestess returning back to Mother Earth after various important yet secret services, on behalf of spreading Terran plants as far across the galaxy as possible.
“Yeah… I’m awake,” I muttered, trying to convince myself as much as anyone else in the room. “What’s the problem?”
“We’ve stopped,” said Eileen, who should’ve been catching up on her rest, instead of sitting on the opposite chair, white-faced with fatigue.
I blinked. “Sorry… I thought you said – we’ve stopped.”
“Alongside a small fast cruiser broadcasting a distress sig.”
It was taking a long lightyear for me to wake up. It didn’t help that the cabin lighting was still in Dim mode. “We’re rescuing some poor souls who’ve gotten themselves stranded out here?”
Sarge shook his head. “We wouldn’t have disturbed you for that. That’s what we’re all s’posed to think. Listen. We’ve picked up bridgedeck chatter.” He streamed the conversation he was picking up on his aug onto his com, so Wynn, Cerk and me could hear it.
“…taking so much time? What’re they doing – having a prodding party down there? This is s’posed to be a quick transfer. That’s what you promised. After the mess-up on the outbound trip…” there was a crackle of static.
“That’s the Duty Officer,” Chris filled in.
“This better not take much longer. The hydro atomiser will start chewing on the engine lining if we’re idling more than half an hour,” this voice sounded older.
“And that’s the Chief Engineer, we think,” added Eileen.
“Makes sense. They’re always grumpy,” I muttered.
“You whine about this every damn time, though you don’t pass on your share of the credstack, I notice,” observed the Duty Officer.
“And you’ll be the first one yelping for help if the atomiser punches a hole in the engine casing, while out here in the Forbidden Zone!” snapped the Chief Engineer.
Sarge cursed, Chris shook his head, while both Wynn and me were suddenly struggling to keep our robes from flying up around our waists. Cerk was the only person who seemed reasonably calm at that info-bomb.
But then if he’s buddies with the Eaties, I don’t s’pose skipping in and out of the Forbidden Zone is such a big deal for him – whereas, for the rest of us… I shivered. The Eaties – or Eaoughts, seeing as we were having to be all proper around Cerk – weren’t to be messed with.
“This lot must have a prodding deathwish. What’re they playing at?” snapped Sarge.
“Don’t even say it!” yelped a new voice from the bridge, echoing my own thoughts on the subject, before adding, “Our associates say they’ve safely stowed the package. And request the extra item, as discussed.”
“Nah. Not a chance in Hell. The Old Man’d have my hide stapled to the ramjet scoop if I let those bilgescum within sniffing distance of our passenger manifest,” announced the Duty Officer.
“I can’t tell them that!” spluttered the new voice – evidently the Coms Officer.
“Tell ‘em we’ve closely examined the passenger manifest and DNA readings and that the individual they’re searching for isn’t on board,” instructed the Duty Officer. “Say we need to fire up our engines, so request that they cast off from our tethers forthwith.”
The Coms Officer relayed the message, while we sat listening in breath-held silence.
“Their Captain wants to talk directly to you, sir,” she reported.
“Put him on speakers,” commanded the Duty Officer.
“The engines better be firing up in twenty minutes, max. Or I won’t be able to guarantee they will,” said the Chief Engineer.
“Thank you for that!” grated the Duty Officer, clearly meaning nothing of the sort.
“What’s all this bilgecrud about you checking out yer trippers’ organic idents?” The angry voice blared around the bridgedeck, “You think we’re prodding amateurs? We know you crisp the samples in front’ve the topline punters. So. Don’t. Lie. Or we won’t be doin’ business again.”
“We’re able to lift the DNA readings before that happens. They have to be checked, remember,” the Duty Officer’s voice was unruffled. “Your person of interest is not on board.”
“You got a woman the right height dressed as one’ve those Gaiast freaks. Anyone seen her minus the mask those prodders wear?” asked the cruiser captain, sounding more like a pirate with every passing moment.
“I’m not at liberty to confirm or deny details of any of our passengers, unless they specifically concern you. I repeat – there is no one on this ship who fits your description.”
“Just cos Big E isn’t here don’t mean he isn’t gonna be mega flixed at your attitude,” roared the pirate captain. “Remember this is personal for him. And he’s likely to hold a grudge for those who get in his way over this business.”
Big E. Could that be Eddy? It would be the sort of lame-brained title he’d insist on his underlings calling him, for sure…
“Philbycorp doesn’t take kindly to threats,” announced the Duty Officer.
“I’m not talking to them. I’m having a cosy chat to you – the greedy little turd who’s put himself on our payroll thanks to those cred-rich deliveries we’ve bin making, along with everyone else running that slab of moving ugliness you call a ship. So if I want you to haul that priest to the bridgedeck without her mask, that’s what you’ll do…ˮ
I swallowed hard, as my stomach knotted with fear, while continuing to listen as Sarge was busy opening one of the small cases in the bottom of our cupboard and assembling a weapon from the variety of inoffensive-looking items of jewellery and toiletries packed inside it. Meanwhile Chris prepared to jam the door. We wouldn’t break cover, yet. Not unless absolutely forced to.
&n
bsp; “Our first duty is to our passengers. You threaten that, you’ll have to answer to the Old Man. Who’ll have to answer to Head Office. So you can stop sliding along that unreality axis. It isn’t going to happen,” said the Duty Officer. “And I’m telling you right now, when the Old Man gets to hear about this, he isn’t going to be best pleased.”
I had to hand it to him, he didn’t scare easily.
“Apart from anything else – we’re talking Gaiasts. You seriously thinking we’re going to so much as sneeze in her direction while sitting in the Forbidden Zone? Because we’ve checked – they’re both wearing alien-made robes. And I don’t care who Big E,” the Duty Officer leaned on the stupid name with the scorn it deserved, “thinks she is – no one gets hold of Eaought-manufactured goods without their yaysay. So there’s proof enough for you or anyone else that she’s the real deal. A proper Gaiast.”
Alien-made? The Eaoughts made these things? My breath hitched as I stared down at the billowing brown robe draped all over me. Suddenly all sorts of details made horrible sense – the High Priestess’s fury that General Normal had managed to get hold of them in the first place... Cerk’s tactic of tipping over the red wine at the Captain’s table… the robe’s eerie abilities… My skin crawled with horror, which didn’t help Jessica’s control one little bit.
“You knew these things are made by the Eaties?” snapped Wynn, turning to Cerk, clearly as knocked out of orbit at this info-bomb as I was.
Who responded, “Yes. And if you didn’t, you should’ve been asking yourself some hard questions as to the things they can do that no normal cloth can.”
“Later, people. We need to keep focused on the current situation.” Sarge now had finished assembling the third gun from the parts in my toiletry bag. Eileen had tipped up the couch and two chairs to provide cover and positioned Wynn and Cerk as far from the door as possible, while Chris was stationed right by it, poised to jam the lock and lay down covering fire with the first gun.
“Ten minutes. Sir,” reminded the Chief Engineer.
“Sir! We are being hailed by a large ship, approaching at speed!” yelped the Coms Officer.
There was a sudden babble on the bridge, presumably as they all got a look at whatever was approaching.
“Get the Captain up here. Right now!” shouted the Duty Officer, his calm and collected facade blown to the edges of the galaxy.
While Sarge swore and Chris shook his head, looking grim.
I drew breath to ask what the matter was, when the pirate Captain provided the answer.
“It’s a prodding Eatie craft! We’re casting off. Now!”
“Oh no, you don’t!” snapped the Duty Officer. “Or you flush our cover story into hard vacuum. Your systems went down. You’ve been transmitting a distress signal and drifted into this section of space accidentally and we came in to help you.”
“Yeah. And now we’re fixed. Many thanks for the rescue. Safe—ˮ the rest of his remarks were drowned in a sudden roar of engine noise.
“Streak of yellow water has gone and blown our tethers!” the Chief Engineer was sounding even grumpier – quite a feat, given the general level of disgust she’d already managed to convey.
“Damage?” snapped the Duty Officer.
“Too early to say. I’ll activate the hull-bots. Likely they’ll be able to fix it, so long as there’s nothing too…ˮ her voice trailed off, followed by a pent silence.
There was a collective sigh. Someone swore steadily on the bridge.
And back here in our room, Chris cursed. Eileen snapped at Cerk as he twitched, while Sarge growled and powered up the assembled weapon in his hand. And I seriously considered ripping off the sodding veil so I could access my augs. This is as bad as being blindfolded.
A new voice on the bridge bounced around the room, “Report Number One. And it had better be dire.”
“It is, Captain,” the Duty Officer’s voice was shaking. “We’d encountered a ship in distress on the edge of the Forbidden Zone and gone to help. When we were hailed by the Eaought vessel now approaching and-and when the cruiser made a run for it – the Eaoughts vaporised it.”
“C-captain?” the Coms Officer sounded like she was on the edge of weeping, “The Eaoughts are requesting permission to come aboard.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
I froze. I think we all did. To be frank, my recollection of that moment is fractured. It didn’t help that Jessica was even more spaced by the whole business than I was. For the last twelve years we’d known these wicked creatures were squatting in a corner of our former territory, after having rounded up the Dars… space chimps… Homo Darwinii – take your pick of the politer names they’ve been called – and snatched every last one of them. Some said they were being used as lab rats, while others claimed they were slaves. However no one doubted their lives were a living hell, which was the main reason why Professor Sladen Waller’s death was never questioned too closely. He’d engineered the wretched beasts, claiming they were a species of humankind designed to cope better with conditions in space. Most folks I knew reckoned he’d flung himself out’ve the airlock with grief at not being able to stop the Eaties stealing them away.
And now, those very same aliens were all set to swarm on board this ship. If I thought about that for more than a nanosec, I was tempted to puddle into a fear-stoked panicky mess. It appeared I wasn’t the only one.
“Nonononoooo,” howled the Coms Officer.
“Officer Starshine! You continue making that disgraceful noise on my bridge, I’ll have you frogmarched to your quarters and you needn’t bother returning!” boomed the Captain.
I looked around the room. No one was panicking. I felt a surge of pride as my guards braced themselves. Those monsters better steer clear of this cabin, or they’ll regret—
“You’d best make those guns disappear. Eaoughts don’t like our weapons, much,” Cerk said, in the tone you’d use when discussing the weather.
“The Captain hasn’t even agreed to allow them aboard. And if he does, what makes you think they’ll get as far as our cabin? There’s another fifty Prime Class suites, not including the Tourist class cabins and Colonial cribicles.” With some 2,148 passengers on the ship, there’s no reason why we should attract any special attention.
Cerk’s stare packed a punch when he wasn’t terror-struck at the prospect of being tossed out’ve the nearest handy airlock, especially when locked onto me far too long. “Because you’re wearing cloth manufactured by them. Something they’ll probably have picked up on their scans already. They’re bound to want to talk to you.” He paused. “And if you were real Gaiasts, you’d have known that.”
“And if they aren’t real Gaiasts – what’s to stop them telling me to zilch your skinny self,” growled Sarge, raising his gun at Cerk.
Who swivelled that stare round to him without so much as flinching. “Because you’re not stupid, or the bad guys. Though I’m not convinced you’re the good guys, either,” he added, in an uncanny echo of my own feelings where he was concerned.
“Boss?” Sarge turned to me. I sensed this battle-hardened pro was as adrift as the rest of us, which wasn’t remotely reassuring – but did force me to haul myself together.
“We’ve next to no solid intel on the Eaties, so he…” Jerking my head in Cerk’s direction, I continued, “…is our resident expert. He’s on terms with them. Given the threat to his life and the fact he’s under our protection, I can’t see what he’d gain by pulling a holo-hoax on us. So I reckon we should pay attention to what he says. For the moment, anyhow. If we reckon he’s feeding us a load’ve bilgecrud, we can re-evaluate our decision.”
Cerk let out a bark of laughter. “You are! As I live and breathe – you are Elizabeth Norman.”
Which was when I realised that I’d lapsed into English.
“Though to be honest, I’d already kind’ve decided it had to be you.” His thin face lit up as he fixed me with that disturbing gaze. “While your Shinese isn’t t
he mangled effort you normally produce, it’s still oddly accented.”
What! I’ve sweated blood to get my Shinese sounding as fancy-ancy as the other topliners on this ship. However, I had to shove that concern into the Pending Box for now – we had other worries.
“You reckon we’ll have to lose the weapons, then?” Chris was clearly unhappy at the prospect of doing so.
“Yes! They really don’t like any kind’ve guns. Think they’re cowardly and–and ungallant,” Cerk fumbled for the words.
Sarge was still looking at me for confirmation.
I nodded. “Don’t break’em down, though. Just hide them in the false compartment.” With the cred-grabbing shower running the bridgedeck, I had a crawling notion we’d probably need them before this voyage was over, anyhow. If we survived till dawn.
“Better make that warp speed. Security is on its way to scoop us up,” announced Eileen, who was still monitoring events on the bridgedeck. “Meantime, the Eaties—ˮ
“Eaoughts,” corrected Cerk.
He’d clearly been accepted as a temporary member of the team, given that she merely scowled in his direction, before continuing, “Eaoughts. Have boarded. Used some kind’ve transfer beam, by all accounts.”
“Right. Back into bed—ˮ I began, realising that we needed to act as if we didn’t know what was going down.
“No.” Cerk’s habit of interrupting was starting to grate. “There’s no point. They’ll know we were awake and prepared for action. Eaoughts hate any kind’ve deception. Think it dishonourable.”
“As you were, then!” I snapped, swinging back to Cerk. “And the staff? Do I need to lose that, too?”
“Depends. Is it part’ve the disguise, or can you use it?”
“I’ve practised some. Got the hang of the basic drills.”
